


His Love Is My Religion

by Barricades_And_Flowers (fyeahblackturtlenecks)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyeahblackturtlenecks/pseuds/Barricades_And_Flowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire reminisces about the only deity that matters, and his relationship with said god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Love Is My Religion

**Author's Note:**

> Again, have a songfic. I got the idea for this one from "Her Love Is My Religion" by The Cab. I don't own the song or the characters.

Grantaire, proper cynic that he considered himself to be, did not believe in God.

Of course, before he'd chosen not to believe in something (or been simply unable to) he had acquainted himself with said concept. He had read the Bible as a teenager, having even gone to the local church with his questions. The pastor, at first so enthusiastic to educate him on the intricate topics of Christianity, had quickly run out of answers for the young man's myriad questions. This had only piqued Grantaire's interest, and he went through a Bible over the course of a month, finding everything he considered to be a contradiction he could and marking it with a Post-It note. Needless to say, his foray into religion had ended quickly.

So it came as a surprise to him when he found himself worshipping a new God, an Apollo of fiery red and a golden halo of curls, a deity that stood on tables instead of pedestals and spoke to a crowd of activists instead of a church full of followers. It happened in his sophomore year of college, on a night when the bottle in his hand grew lighter even faster than usual. He'd been approached by a large man of burly build, asking if he wanted to partake in a drinking game to prove a point to his friends. Upon his acceptance and subsequent victory, the man, whose name turned out to be Bahorel, proceeded to introduce him to a group of people who called themselves Les Amis de l'ABC. Among this group of hopeful students was Enjolras, a god among mortals, Grantaire's very own saving grace.

He argued with his Apollo daily, loving to watch his face twist and react with anger and his voice rise to the heavens as he fired off rebuttals to his cynical arguments. His attendance at the weekly meetings of Les Amis de l'ABC was flawless, simply because afterwards, he sat for hours attempting to capture the perfection that was Enjolras in his sketchbook. And so he'd spent his first year with this group, before a conversation with the slight, flowery poet Jean Prouvaire opened his eyes to the fact that, somewhere between the meetings and the drinking games, the young artist had come to believe in something. He believed, not in the causes that he spoke so vehemently of, but in the fearless Apollo that led Les Amis. 

He spent the year following that fateful conversation trying, trying so hard to convince his precious god to go out with him. Flirtatious were met with eye-rolling, outright advances were met with tests Enjolras had to study for. 

The first time Grantaire succeeded in getting one date with Enjolras, it was during the summer. They had gone, unsurprisingly, to a bookstore so Enjolras could pick up some of the textbooks he required for a political science course. Grantaire, although nervous, had managed to stay sober all day for the occasion. He had been rewarded for his efforts with a hesitant, unsure hand in his. He relished that single touch, suppressing the smile that threatened to stretch ear to ear. And those touches became more frequent over the next month of dates. Grantaire treasured and remembered each one, no matter how fleeting--a hand on his, the intentional brushing of shoulders as they walked past each other--each one made that particular day perfect. The day that his Apollo had kissed him for the first time was, in his opinion, one of the best days of his life. And of course, walking up with Enjolras at his side had made him deliriously happy. 

That was not to say that they were seamless. In their relationship, as in any, there had been bumps and bruises, quite literally--Enjolras had leapt into the fray at a demonstration one too many times, and Grantiare, out of worry, had drunk himself all the way to the hospital. The time that Grantaire had left and not come back after a phone call from his father, and Enjolras had come home after two days of searching to his boyfriend huddled in a corner of the couch, artist's fingers clenched around a bottle of whiskey. The time that Enjolras had found out just where the strange scars on Grantaire's back had really come from, and had been furious to the point of almost calling Grantaire's father. Grantaire had been forced to tell him everything just to convince him to put the phone down. There was the first fight, the one that had started as a result of Enjolras' desire to keep the relationship a secret from everyone for an indefinite amount of time. And there was the fight that, in Grantaire's opinion, started their relationship, the one in which Enjolras had asked him why he even came to meetings because "You believe in nothing!" and Grantaire had answered, "I believe in you."

Grantaire smiled to himself, running a hand through his neatly combed curls--courtesy of Éponine, who would probably give him one of her best death glares for that--and adjusted his tie. It slightly surprised him that his hands were so steady, because he hadn't had anything to drink yet, wanting to be sober for the occasion. The door behind him opened and Jehan peered inside. "'Taire? It's time." The poet's voice pulled him out of the last stages of his reverie. Grantaire responded with a simple nod and his smile widened as he brushed a stray piece of dust off of his tuxedo. His smile shrank slightly as a horrifying thought passed through his mind,

"He's...he's still here, right?" he asked, voice wavering slightly.

"Of course," Jehan answered, smiling gently.

Grantaire released a small sigh of relief and squared his shoulders. "Right. Well. Let's go get me married." His heart did a small flip-flop as he thought of who was waiting for him in that tent (because they both refused to get married in a church), and he briefly considered the idea of thanking a God he didn't believe in that Apollo, the only deity that would ever matter to him, was so ready and willing to spend the rest of his life with him.


End file.
